


Sugar, Sugar.

by BullySquadess



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: #daddyagreste, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), F/M, but god this fandom was just begging for some more corruption, nobody asked for this, one day i will seriously use tags but until then.., probably a bit slow burn but WE SHALL SEE, tfw you find out your crime fighting partner is also your sugar daddy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:46:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6413224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BullySquadess/pseuds/BullySquadess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She needs money, he has money. He needs companionship, she's his companion. In which two people find the thing they need the most in each other....<br/>Also: b o n i n g<br/>I dont know ya'll, its a sugar daddy au and I am so very tired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating will probably change with future installments!
> 
> Some things to note: This fic works under the assumption that Adrien was never enrolled in public school, meaning there is no prior Adrienette dynamic. He is, however, still Chat Noir so our heroes know each other in that particular context. Characters are aged up to about 21 here and still have their Miraculous.
> 
> Enjoy, sinners.

 

It was the trademark joke of struggling students across the globe: the classic “guess I’ll have to get a Sugar Daddy” spiel.

The thing was, as university life continued to take its toll on her bank account, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had stopped laughing and began to see it as less of a joke and more like an… option. An increasingly attractive option, in light of certain circumstances.

When one of her roommates (one of the _three_  she was currently sharing an apartment with in the fifth arrondissement) had jokingly suggested it as a solution to her dire financial situation, she couldn’t help but pause. Transportation costs, utilities… even her fabric budget was getting out of control. And with her savings nearly gone and graduation looming on the horizon, the thought of having to take out student loans right when she was so close to putting herself through a degree dug at Marinette in a deeply unsettling manner.

True, France was particularly generous when it came to providing affordable housing and tuition. True, her parents had offered to help chip in from their own meagre bank account to help get her over this last hump. But it was also true that Marinette was a stubborn being, someone who was dead set on making it on her wits alone.

Day after day she toiled in her hilariously small bedroom, hunched over a sewing machine as she laboriously churned out commissions to help get her through the month. She prided herself on being a studious person — hell, she wouldn’t have made it through three years of design school if she wasn’t! — but Marinette also prided herself on knowing when it was time to take further measures. She _knew_ that sometimes it paid to work smarter, not harder, so the idea of having someone around to help ease the burden of her costly final year was an attractive prospect to say the least.

There was only the small matter of what she’d need to give up in return…

Marinette considered herself to be an informed and empowered young woman, so she would never stoop to judge a sister on her consensual sexual decisions. Even so, Marinette didn’t know if she was cut out to handle a life spent pursuing a physical relationship with someone who’d be monetarily reimbursing her.  Her college years had done wonders for breaking down her sometimes-awkward exterior (suffice to say she wasn’t completely new to the world of intimacy thank-you-very-much), but she was still unsure whether she had the stones to even consider dipping her toe into the “sugar lifestyle”.

In the end it had taken a fair amount of research, countless hours of mental wrestling ( _tonight only, folks, watch the no-holds-barred pit match of morals vs. reason!_ ), and more than a bit of wheedling from a certain red-headed friend-slash-enabler of hers, but Marinette had eventually convinced herself to begin the arduous process of enlisting a sugar daddy.

_‘Lord help me if my parents ever catch wind of this…’_

Her journey began, as most of her questionable life decisions did, on a coffee date with Alya. Having lived the sugar life for nearly a year before snagging a decently paying job at the local news station, her friend was an incredible wealth of knowledge, and perhaps the only person Marinette could ever feel comfortable discussing something like this with.

“So tell me everything I need to know before I prostitute myself for art supplies,” Marinette said, swallowing her trepidation along with a sip from her small hot chocolate (the cheapest thing on the menu). The inquiry immediately earned her a tut from the woman across the table.

“Okay, first off, being a sugar baby is not prostitution,” Alya chastised with a firm shake of her head, “so get that idea out of your head. Truth be told, there’s plenty of lonely guys out there who’ll pay you just to have dinner with them. All you’ve gotta do is look pretty and act interested in what they’re saying, and you _could_ conceivably end the night with a free meal and some pocket cash!”

“So you’re saying you never actually… _did things_  with your…” Marinette wasn’t sure what to call Alya’s “patrons”. _‘Is it considered a breach of etiquette to address someone else’s partner as 'Daddy'?’_ she wondered, electing to use a vague hand gesture instead.

It seemed she had a lot to learn.

“Oh, hell no,” Alya laughed. “I’ve definitely sucked a dick or two in my time, but that’s because I was aiming higher.” She steepled her fingers, giving her friend a significant look. “All I’m saying is you _could_  get away with having a strictly platonic relationship, if you’re targeting a little chump change. But seeing as you’ve got a budding fashion empire to fund…”

“You don’t suppose I’ll get a kind old man to take me under his wing as a sort of grandfatherly figure and give me money in exchange for talking over a nice cup of tea?”

“Not a chance.”

Marinette sighed. “I didn’t think so.”

“But that doesn’t mean you have to go all red light district from the get-go!” Alya rushed to assure her. “There’s a million different mutually beneficial arrangements you could work out, with varying amounts of… let's just call it sugar.”

The seamstress tweaked an eyebrow at that.

“All right, so tell about these low-sugar options,” Marinette inquired, leaning back in her chair but paying close attention as Alya launched into her speech.

“Arrangements are made on a case by case basis, so there’s no one set formula for what makes up a sugar relationship," the reporter explained. "I had one sugar daddy who liked to take me out one or two nights a month for drinks and dirty dancing, then slip me some cash on the way out. I had another sugar daddy who watched me clean his house naked a few times a week, and arranged for my electricity bill to be withdrawn from his account. I had a sugar daddy who granted me a monthly allowance of spending money and gave me gifts every time I came over to spend the night with him.”

Alya paused for a breath while Marinette processed the new information. “What I’m saying is, these are all common examples of what’s called a mutually beneficial arrangement," Alya pointed out. "It’s important to go over your terms with any potential suitors beforehand so you both head into the relationship with a clear understanding of each other’s expectations. Just like real dating, communication is key when it comes to sugar dating, so promise me you’ll be smart and pick a guy who's eager to listen to what you have to say.”

“Find a guy who listens, got it.”

“It shouldn’t be that hard — most sugar daddies share the endearing quality of being eager to please. Hence the gifts and spoiling.”

Marinette toyed with her cup. “I’m almost reluctant to ask, but… please elaborate on this whole spoiling thing.”

“Well, you see,” Alya prosed, waving her hands as if delivering a Shakespearian soliloquy, “being a sugar baby can sometimes feel a full time job, especially if you’re juggling multiple daddies. But the _spoiling_ is what makes it all worth it. I’m talking shopping sprees, I’m talking back rubs, I’m talking lonely men who just want to lavish their attention on pretty young women.”

“That sounds like it could get weird…”

“Oh, it can for sure, but if you find a daddy you feel comfortable with, the spoiling can actually be quite a nice experience. For example, I once partnered with this man in his late 40’s. He was a quiet sort of guy, a divorced lawyer whose looks were nothing to write home about, but _goddamn_  was he generous. When we first made our arrangement, he made it clear that he wouldn’t pressure me into doing anything I wasn’t comfortable with, that he just wanted to pay off my credit cards and give me a back rub once a week in exchange for a sympathetic ear… but I tell you Mari, that man had magic hands, and it wasn’t more than a month before _I_  was actually asking _him_  if he wanted to step up the intimacy factor!” Alya laughed, shaking her head as if she could hardly believe her own story. “And from then on, I not only got a rocking massage and some average dick from a stressed but sweet lawyer, I also went home 500€ richer each month. Best arrangement I’ve had by far!”

Marinette’s head spun a bit as she chewed the information she’d been given. She never knew there were so many intricacies that came with such a seemingly flippant concept, but now it seemed as though her decision to seek out some guidance was a good one, and she was thankful she hadn’t just blindly jumped in.

Their conversation whiled on for the next half hour or so, Marinette firing off questions until the two of them had to part for other engagements, but she'd left far more knowledgeable about (and far more comfortable with) the idea of sugar dating than she ever thought possible.

Which led her to now: bent over her laptop at two in the morning, praying for her ancestors to look away as she registered for an account on Alya’s preferred site for so-called “mutually beneficial arrangements". The platform was highly rated as far as Marinette could see, touted as one of the safest and most reliable spaces for finding a partner, and the fact every member was background checked helped ease her lingering worry.

After a nearly an hour of fiddling with her profile, writing and rewriting her bio and endlessly swapping out her pictures, Marinette sat back to survey her page. Her goal was to sound willing but not desperate, fun but not crazy, and opinionated but not stringent. The kind of girl who knew what she wanted and knew what she was willing to do to get it. …Ne mind the fact she had yet to decide how far she was willing to go in her “arrangement”.

Once she was satisfied, Marinette closed down shop for the night. She slid into her twin bed with a harsh grind of springs while ruminating on what came next for her newly “on-the-market" self.

That night, she dreamt of leering old men pressing rumpled bills into her hand.

 

* * *

 

Contrary to his public image, Adrien Agreste was now fairly certain he could be classified as a loser.

Here he was, at the peak of his youth on a Saturday night, 21 years old and eating cereal in his pajamas as his best friend (who just so happened to be a tiny, anthropomorphic cat god) snoozed atop the couch.

Never mind the fact his face had graced the cover of every major fashion magazine currently in publication. Never mind that his cereal was some whole-grain monstrosity imported from Tibet to sit in his expensive, hand-spun bowl, or that his pajamas had a designer label stitched into the waistband.

Never mind that Plagg’s resting spot was a ridiculously overpriced piece of furniture, nestled amongst a half dozen other pieces of similarly overpriced furniture in his unnecessarily large apartment. Never mind that he was stupidly famous for doing nothing beside posing and smiling (or pouting, depending on the photographer).

Just. Never mind.

A gold-plated loser was a loser nonetheless, and he was 24 karats of lonely.

Loneliness wasn’t exactly a new sensation for Adrien, having lived most of his life under the strict thumb of his father. But now that he'd entered his second year of freedom (he used the term in the loosest possible way, given that his schedule was still strictly controlled by the head of the Agreste empire), Adrien couldn’t help but feel weighed down by his solitude. In a twist ending that shocked exactly no one, his twelve years of home schooling had done little to actually teach him about how to build lasting human relationships. Now that Adrien found himself in the outside world, making connections was turning out to be a daunting task for the young man.

Besides Plagg and Ladybug (two equally puzzling, vaguely otherworldly figures he still knew very little about), Adrien didn’t have many people he could comfortably call his friends. Sure, he had contacts like his ex-girlfriend (don’t ask) Chloe, or the multitude of models and designers he was forced to interact with on a weekly basis, but they weren't anyone he would actually choose to spend his time with. People like the mayor’s daughter were the kind of acquaintances Adrien’s father would push him to socialize with: people who were useful, people who had connections.

People who were _boring as shit_.

After being force-fed that superficial brand of fake flattery for over two decades, Adrien was more than tired of it. He wanted someone to talk to, another human body to help fill the empty space of his couch and eat gross cereal out of one of the seven other bowls that sat unused in his kitchen. Adrien wanted someone out of the public eye, someone who didn’t chase him to further their own image and who spent time with him purely because they wanted to.

Which is why it was probably ironic that he was registering for a sugar daddy dating site.

With the company he kept (read: rich lonely snobs), the idea of having an “arrangement” wasn’t at all foreign to Adrien. He couldn’t tell you how many young, attractive men and women he’d shaken hands with as they clung to geezers twice their age. The fashion industry was notorious for its ever-changing arm candy, and sugar couples were hardly a thing to bat an eye at when they populated every show and banquet — but still, the idea of buying someone’s affection had always seemed a bit underhanded to Adrien.

Or it had until he’d overheard an unexpectedly frank discussion between his fellow models a week prior.

It had started off like almost all their conversation did: just some idle chatter as Adrien and about four other twenty-somethings stood around being measured and prodded. But this time the blonde hadn’t immediately tuned out when the topic of sugar babies arose, instead listening in and actually gaining some surprising insight as his coworkers swapped stories.

The first thing that shocked Adrien was their age. When he thought “sugar daddy”, he pictured some balding sixty year old with a bum leg and abandonment issues, not a supermodel at the height of their desirability. The idea that even young men could pursue sugar relationships was one he’d never paused to consider.

The second, and even more interesting, thing he’d gleaned from the conversation was that his coworkers seemed to genuinely _enjoy_  lavishing attention on their partners.

Adrien remembered leaning atop his podium with one eyebrow quirked, listening intently as the young man next to him had recounted his time spent treating his sugar baby to shopping trips and spa days.

“I mean, as someone who's fawned over all the time, it’s really nice to focus on someone else for a while, you know?” the model (Adrien couldn’t quite place his name) had said, getting a faraway look in his eye before straightening at his seamstress’ command. “It’s not like my money is going towards better things anyway, so I don’t mind helping her pay her rent — and honestly, she’s so down to earth about everything! I can’t tell you how many times she’s been game to just come over, eat take-out with me, and listen to my problems for a few hours, no expectation whatsoever. I swear, my baby is the realest friend I’ve got at this point, and I probably would have gone off the deep end _months_ ago if not for her.”

That’s when Adrien couldn’t help but cut in.

“How do you know she’s not just sticking around for the money?” he’d asked, surprising his co-models with an uncharacteristic interjection. “How do you deal with knowing she only hangs out with you because she needs to?” The question had come out more hostile than Adrien had intended, but the young man across from him just shrugged.

“Maybe she is just trying to use me, but how is that any different from the people we meet every day in our line of work?” he'd retorted. “If I’m being frank, I really don’t mind if my baby _is_  just sticking around for the money, because at least she’s up front about it. She didn’t try and be my friend first and then start asking favors, we both entered our partnership knowing full well what the other person was after, and so far she’s given me that.”

The model had looked Adrien straight in the eye then, speaking openly and without concern. “She needs money, I’ve got money. I need companionship, and she’s my companion. We help each other because we want to, and we have fun together. How could I regret that?”

Adrien hadn’t had an answer.

He _still_  didn’t have an answer, even now, and the conversation had been stewing in his thoughts for the past week or so until he couldn’t get the idea out of his head. The concept just seemed so attractive, and the way his co-model had explained it made everything sound far less complicated than Adrien had originally imagined.

_“We help each other because we want to, and we have fun together.”_

He made it sound doable — smart, even — and perhaps that was why Adrien now found himself scouring some sugar dating website at asscrack-o'-clock in the morning as his kwami continued to snooze.

He’d signed up for the site a few days prior and had been lurking ever since. To keep some measure of anonymity (oh, the press would have a field day if they ever found his profile), Adrien had yet to upload a picture of himself. His unwillingness to share his face had predictably turned off more than a few potential suitors already.

 _‘Well, it can’t be helped,_ ’ he thought, watching as another one of his matches disconnected. _‘God knows what kind of harpies I’d get swarming me if they saw I was the model from the billboard on Fifth and Main.’_

Though it was frustrating, Adrien couldn’t exactly blame the naysayers. Despite being background certified and having written what he judged to be a fairly eloquent bio, he had to admit the lack of a face really brought a sort of creepy vibe to his profile. Like he was some trench coat-clad weirdo luring his next target into some hellish death trap.

He silently hoped his company wasn’t _that_  bad.

It was past five AM now, with pale light filtering in to illuminate his cavernous living room, and the brightness only seemed to emphasize how very empty the space was. Growing a bit discouraged, Adrien was about to quit for the night when he idly clicked over to the new member tab out of sheer habit. The page was updated fairly often, with fresh faces popping up every few minutes or so, and the young man scrolled for a bit before his eyes were caught by a likely-looking profile.

Beneath the image of a sweetly smiling woman who looked to be around his age was the tag line _“Fashion student looking for a friend :)”_ — and hell if it didn’t seem like fate.

Indulging his curiosity, Adrien navigated to her profile to see her full biography.

_“Hi, my name is Marinette, a college senior new to this whole sugar dating concept. I’ve lived in Paris my whole life and am currently studying fashion design at IFA. My days mostly consist of classes and work (I sew custom commission between working on my own line), but in my free time I like going to the farmer’s market or taking trips to the cinema. I’m looking for a like-minded individual who can help me support my passion while I in turn support theirs in any way I can. Don’t be shy, leave me a message! <3”_

Well, there didn't seem to be any immediate red flags.

If anything, Adrien was refreshed to see a bio that wasn’t as overtly sexual as the others he’d come across. The simple but sweet summation seemed to match up perfectly with the face attached to it.

 _‘Marinette,’_  he thought to himself, tossing the name about as he swiped through her pictures.

Marinette had dark hair, with swooping bangs that fell above her gorgeous blue eyes and pale skin patterned with the slightest hint of freckles. Half of her shots were selfies, but the other half were full body shots, giving Adrien a peek at not only her lean physique (not that he was looking at her like that — he was a gentleman, after all) but also her colorfully playful wardrobe. True to her major, the lady had a keen fashion sense.

Maybe it was due to his lack of sleep, but Adrien felt a dopey grin stretch his face when he came across the picture of her in pink rubber rain boots, stomping into a puddle with her face frozen in mid-laugh. "Cute" seemed the wrong word to describe her — "cute" was better exchanged between middle school sweethearts — but Adrien struggled to find a more apt descriptor for the utterly adorable person before him.

He settled on "genuine".

Marinette seemed like a genuine person, someone who’d quite literally learned to dance in the rain. She seemed like the type of person he needed in his thunderstorm of a life.

She seemed like the _sun._  

 _‘All right, cool it, Jane Austen,’_  Adrien chided himself, pushing away his overly sentimental musings and pressing the message button. _‘Maybe talk to her a bit before you go writing sonnets on her beauty.'_ He made an additional mental note to stop eating past midnight, as his late meals were most definitely turning him into a sap.

His message was brief, and far less mushy than his previous thoughts cried out for. Just a quick, _“Hi, I’m Adrien. How are you?”_

 _‘No sense in spooking her,’_  he reasoned with a yawn, peeking out of his windows only to be greeted by the sight of the rising sun. Adrien groaned, setting his bowl in the sink to soak before silently giving thanks he had nowhere to be until after six in the evening. With one last look at Plagg (how in the world did he manage to sleep for a solid twelve hours?) the boy dragged himself off to his room and promptly crashed down on his king-sized bed.

He dreamt of blue eyes and pink rain boots.

 

* * *

 

“I thought you said you were going to be smart about this!” Alya wailed over the phone. “You _promised me_  you were going to be smart about this!”

“I am being smart,” Marinette replied, wincing a bit at her friend’s volume. “I found a guy who listens, just like you said!”

She was met with a scoff.

It had been three days since their lunch date, and three days since Marinette had decided to take the plunge and sign up for the sugar dating site. Things had really taken off quickly for the newly-minted sugar baby. Within the first 24 hours she'd had an inbox full of requests, the sheer volume of messages bowling her over a bit as she'd scrolled through them all in wonder.

Most had been fairly standard hellos and introductions.

Some had been a bit more — ahem — _forward_  in their content, but Marinette had disposed of them fairly quickly.

Others had been downright baffling, and those too were unceremoniously deleted.

Once she had knocked out a good half of the obvious _no’s_ , it had been a matter of simply visiting the profiles of her potential _yes's_ and weeding out the top contenders.

Marinette couldn’t help but be picky (if she was going to do this, by golly it was going to be on _her_ terms), and something as simple as an uneasy vibe was enough grounds to un-match a man. She’d tossed out the message from Mr. “Let-Me-Take-You-On-Cruises”, as well as the one from Sir “I-Don’t-Have-Money-But-I-Can-Mentor”, deeming both an ill fit for her needs. She’d paused when she came across Dr. (yes, doctor) “Loves-To-Go-On-Shopping-Sprees”, but one peek through his pictures had only confirmed that she couldn’t bring herself to flirt with someone who looked old enough to be her grandfather.

The search had dragged on.

Down and down her inbox had shrunk, the requests dwindling until only a select few remained, and — against the voice of her better judgement — Marinette had found her eye drawn to the one man without an icon.

“Adrien,” she'd read off, tentatively navigating to his profile.

Adrien’s bio had been well formed, and everything else about his page had seemed to be in order. He was background certified, a premium member and (presumably) her same age, but the lack of pictures had still set off a tiny alarm in Marinette’s head. Common sense told her not to risk it (how many nights had she spent watching Dateline episodes featuring cyber abductions by anonymous creepers?) but Marinette had found herself inexplicably returning his greeting anyway.

 _‘Besides,’_  she’d thought, sending nearly identical responses to the other two men in her inbox before pushing out of bed for the day, _‘one message doesn’t mean I’m automatically interested.’_

And she was right, one message didn’t mean a thing.

Neither did two.

Of course by the time Marinette was sending her faceless suitor a tenth message, then an eleventh…

“You found a guy without a face!” Alya lectured, poking a hole in her friend’s musing. “Seriously, Mari, I didn’t think I had to tell you, but anonymous profiles are a major no-go.”

“I know it sounds hinky — trust me, I _know_ — but I haven’t found anyone else who matches up with my needs as well as he does!” Marinette sighed, flopping down on her lumpy bed. “Honestly, he’s been a perfect gentleman, and he’s the only person I’ve talked to who I feel comfortable with.”

“And the fact you don’t know what he looks like doesn’t bother you?” came Alya’s dubious reply.

“You know better than I do that I can’t be too picky with looks here,” Marinette deadpanned.

“It’s just suspicious, is all.”

“I’m sure he has his reasons.”

Alya gave a hum. “Well, hinkiness aside, what is he like? I need to have some knowledge of this Adrien fellow if the police investigating your disappearance want to build a suspect profile.”

“Oh, ha-ha,” Marinette said with a roll of her eyes. “You’re a real comedian.”

“You know I am,” Alya replied with an almost audible smirk. “But I’m also the love of your life and your best friend… so spill the beans.”

Marinette mulled her answer over carefully, recalling what information she’d gleaned from their brief interactions before crafting her response.

“What I’ve gathered from him so far is that he’s lonely…”

“Typical.”

“He told me his day job doesn’t really leave the opportunity for more traditional dating, so he’s looking for a casual thing.”

“And you’re sure he’s not just a cheating husband? You’ve gotta stay away from those types.”

“I don’t think so,” Marinette said with a shake of her head against the phone. “He says he’s twenty one, and I'd assume that’s a bit young for the whole unfaithful spouse thing. Question: He gave me his number so we wouldn’t have to deal with the laggy emails. Should I text him?”

“Hhhmmm,” Alaya drawled over the line. “I’ve always been more comfortable with texting in the past, but it’s a matter of personal preference. Are you seriously considering meeting up with this guy or what?”

“I… _think_  I am?” Marinette answered cautiously, picking at her comforter in indecision. So far Adrien had been nothing but cordial towards her in their days of conversation, but she couldn’t fight down a wave of trepidation at the thought of actually scheduling a meeting. The idea of it made everything seem so real. “What do you even do on a first sugar date?”

“Basically, the same thing you’d do on any first date,” Alya said. “You get to know the person, feel them out, and then decide where you go from there.”

“Huh, I would have expected it to seem more… well…”

“Like a job interview? No, negotiating terms is best left for the second date, after you’ve both made the decision you’d like to begin an arrangement. The first time you meet with Adrien should just be purely casual, _then_ you can pull out your briefcases and discuss logistics. ” A pause. “So what are you thinking?”

Marinette tossed the words about, chewing on her bottom lip before speaking out in a determined tone. “I think I _will_  meet up with him,” she affirmed. “I’ll text Adrien tonight and we’ll set up a date.”

“And…” Alya prompted with her Mom Friend™ voice. Marinette grinned.

“And then I’ll text you with all the details so you can inevitably keep tabs on me during said date.”

“That’s my girl. Now go get that sugar!”

 

* * *

 

[ Hi, is this Adrien? ]

**[ It is, I’m guessing this is Marinette? ]**

[ It is! ]

**[ Hey Marinette, I’m glad you decided to text me ]**

[ Yeah, the whole emailing thing was getting to be a bit of a bother, this is much quicker. ]

**[ Agreed… ]**

**[ So I have to confess, I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, and I apologize if I seem a bit awkward. This is just all very new to me. ]**

[ Oh thank goodness, I thought I was the only one new to this whole thing! Honestly, you’re the first person I actually replied to, so trust me when I say I’ll probably be the awkward one. ]

**[ You chose to message me (the guy with no profile picture) first? I’m both flattered and a little confused??? ]**

[ I figured you had your reasons for remaining anonymous. Your profile says you’re 21 so I’m guessing you haven’t been on the run from the law for the past decade, and as long as you aren’t a serial killer… ]

[ (wow, im really bad at this) ]

**[ Don’t worry, I’ve only been on the lam for the past three years, and for larceny, not murder. (you aren’t any worse at this than I am) ]**

**[ Truthfully, I have kind of a… unique face, so I thought avoiding pictures would help avoid drama. ]**

[ I hate to push but… what do you mean by unique? Feel free to not answer if it’s too rude. ]

**[ No, it’s fine, I’d be worried if you weren’t a little curious. I’m not disfigured or anything, just recognizable is all. Let’s just say there are people out there who could really do some damage if they got their hands on a dating profile with my face on it, so I thought it best to remain anonymous. ]**

**[ …I feel like I made that sound more creepy than it is…I could send you a picture if it bothers you? ]**

[Actually… I was hoping maybe you’d like to meet up? I’d definitely see your face then (unless you wear a ski mask or something) ]

**[ I’d love to meet up! What’s a good time for you? (and I promise only to wear a ski mask if our date is at a ski resort) ]**

[ Oh right, you’re NOT a serial killer. I’m free the entire weekend so time-wise it’s up to you. ]

**[ How about Saturday? I get off at six. ]**

[ Saturday is great. Where would you like to go? ]

**[ Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? ]**

[ Oh, right… Is dinner and a movie okay? ]

**[ A classic choice, sounds fun! Any requests for venue? ]**

[ How about you choose the restaurant and I choose the show? ]

**[ Deal. I’ll send you the address and meet you at seven on Saturday? ]**

[  Sounds great, see you this weekend :) ]

**[ See you this weekend :) ]**

 

* * *

 

 

Adrien had never really gone on dates in high school — for obvious reasons — so the eagerness he felt bubbling in his chest as he stood outside the restaurant was something of a new experience for him.

Lately he struggled to find things that excited him (with the exception of his outings as Chat Noir, Adrien didn’t have all that much going for him in terms of adventure), but the past week had passed in blur of anticipation for his meet-up with Marinette. Likewise, Saturday’s workday had been blessedly brief, and that meant he'd had plenty of time to run home and agonize over his wardrobe like a sophomore who was late to homecoming.

Thankfully, Adrien’s hair had still been expertly styled from his prior photoshoot, so that saved him from incurring that particular crisis. But there had still been the matter of what he was going to wear.

 _‘She’s a design student,’_  he’d thought desperately, rifling through his piles of designer clothes with a sigh. _‘She’ll know if my shirt doesn’t match my pants, or my jacket is tailored wrong, or…’_

For someone who spent his days surrounded by the biggest names in fashion, Adrien sure had lost his marbles over simple dinner attire.

In the end he’d elected to stick with a classic look: collared shirt, dark slacks, brown leather Oxfords, and a coat to take the edge off the October chill.

It was a nice look. A clean look.

Yet Adrien couldn’t help but feel as though he should have worn his most expensive tuxedo the moment he caught sight of his date.

He’d only been waiting a scant five minutes before a dark-haired woman rounded the street corner, sporting a navy peacoat layered over a knee-length floral dress, her sweet face recognizable even from a distance. The restaurant Adrien had chosen for them was just shy of black tie, meaning Marinette was by no means overdressed, but her look was the kind of effortless fashion people paid big money on stylists to arrange for them — he of all people could attest to that.

Her natural grace, paired with the way she strode down the sidewalk, blue eyes searching and heels lightly clicking on the pavement, made Adrien feel both woefully lackluster and instantly smitten with the young woman making her way towards their meeting spot.

 _‘Oh gosh, oh no.’_  Adrien rose from the bench he’d snagged just outside the restaurant, affecting his carefully tailored smile as he made his way over to the lost-looking Marinette. _‘She’s cute. She’s really, really cute.’_  

With each step he took towards her turned back, Adrien’s already rising anticipation doubled. By the time he worked up the courage to finally tap her on the shoulder with a friendly “Hey”, his heartbeat was fluttering like the aforementioned high school sophomore.

Marinette turned at the sound, face strung with a smile. “Hi—“

Her expression grew incredulous as she took in his appearance, large eyes widening as they roved over his face, and Adrien held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t turn tail and run. He’d never fully understood the reaction people often had upon encountering him, so he'd learned to just roll with it.

 _‘She probably wasn’t expecting you to be a model,’_  he reminded himself, maintaining his casual stance while allowing her a second to process. _‘Just let her adjust to the idea that—‘_

“You!” Marinette squeaked, peering up at him in near shock. “Y-you’re…”

“Not super old and-or a convicted arsonist?” Adrien cut in with a polite grin, shoulders tensing just a bit at her overly adoring stare. A part of him had been hoping she _wouldn’t_  recognize him, but Adrien now realized that was an outlandish wish given that she was studying fashion.

And lived in Paris.

And had eyes.

“I was going to say 'Adrien Agreste',” Marinette said, blinking rapidly as if to clear her head. “But also that.”

Adrien gave a soft chuckle, pulling his hands out of his pockets and offering his right towards her.

“It’s nice to finally meet you…” He let the greeting dangle and Marinette winced as she realized she’d yet to introduce herself properly.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she responded, slipping her white-gloved hand into his and giving it a friendly shake. “I-it’s nice to meet you too. Officially, that is.”

As Adrien opened his mouth to speak again, a chilly wind rose up from their ankles and Marinette gave a tell-tale shiver. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders before he’d even made the conscious decision to do so, gentleman senses kicking in to overdrive as his mind screamed “LADY” and “COLD”.

Of course the second he settled against her, Marinette stiffening just a bit at the contact, Adrien realized the intimacy of the position and quickly withdrew with a flush.

“I— um… Sorry about that,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “You looked cold, but I probably should have just suggested we go inside, huh?”

Marinette shook her head kindly. “That’s fine,” she replied, pulling her coat tight around her with a small smile. “I get cold fairly easy. Guess I should have worn something better tonight…”

“You look great,” Adrien assured her, earning another bashful duck of her dark head. “But maybe we should find some place warmer to continue the conversation?”

He received no argument.

Dinner raced by, and the somewhat awkward note their date had begun on dissipated quickly as the wine and conversation began to flow. They talked about their jobs, with Marinette listening raptly as he described his toilsome fitting sessions and Adrien marvelling as she recounted her rigorous school schedule. They talked about their favorite shows, their favorite games, things they liked to do in their spare time.

Adrien cracked the biggest smile as he listened to the petite woman extol her bloodiest kills in MK in graphic detail, leaning forward and planting his chin atop his hands in total enthralment. With sweeping arm gestures fit for a true brawler, Marinette artfully described the exact crack of her enemy’s spine, really laying on the imagery before seeming to recall they were mid-meal at a fancy restaurant and ending her rant with a blush.

Cute _and_ nerdy. He was a total goner.

By the time their dessert arrived (the model would beg forgiveness from his dietician later), Adrien was completely at ease with his date, his words flowing smoother and his shoulders less tensed than they had been in months. Possibly years.

Marinette’s presence was at once invigorating and soothing, with the young woman bouncing between her more demure self and her eccentric side almost seamlessly. Her duality, her effortless confidence and ability to listen, everything about her seemed to lull him into a state of comfort… and Adrien found himself trying to recall just why those characteristics felt so familiar.

When they reached the cinema down the street — dinner eaten and drinks polished off — that overwhelming sense of familiarity doubled as Adrien watched Marinette’s inquisitive blue eyes catch on a show poster for some action flick. She turned to him, placing her hands on her hips and inquiring whether or not he was down to watch “Megapunch” or if he’d rather she choose a tamer film. The challenging glance (which Adrien was only too keen on accepting) stirred something in the young man, weird feelings of déjà vu that followed him even as they settled into the seats of the darkened theater.

 _‘You’re overthinking things,’_  he told himself, shifting in excitement and unable to keep from glancing over at Marinette’s eager grin as the previews rolled.

_'You’d sure as hell know if you’d met someone like her before…’_

 

* * *

 

“Wait, so that was seriously your first time watching a movie in a theater?”

About two hours after they'd first set foot in the cinema, Adrien and Marinette made their way out, dropping their glasses into the plastic bin and making their way around to the lobby. Adrien shrugged at her question, heart still thumping pleasantly in response to the action-packed final sequence as they dumped their empty popcorn bowls.

With pyrotechnics and shredding guitar solos, Megapunch hadn’t disappointed.

“More or less,” Adrien answered, casting back through his memory. There was never any time in his rigorously policed schedule for trips to the movies, but it wasn’t really a topic he wanted to bring up now. Not when they were having so much fun.

“Well, actually, I take that back,” he amended, stepping closer to his date as the crowd moved them towards the exit. “I did make an appearance at Sundance when I was seventeen or so, but I mostly just walked the red carpet in one of my dad’s suits and sat through a 90 minute film about how snails are a metaphor for genocide.” Marinette gave him a dubious look, and he returned with a sheepish shrug. “Not exactly a favorite of mine.”

“I can imagine,” she said, laughing as they pushed their way through the double doors leading outside.

Adrien found himself thrown off his bearings for a second, blinking at the building’s exterior lights as they cut through the evening dim. The duo had entered the cinema when it was light out, and having not been outside for a few hours, stepping out onto the now-dark sidewalk was jarring to his senses.

“Woah,” Adrien said, looking up at the starless night sky. “I didn’t think it was this late.”

“Not 'late', really,” Marinette cut in, flashing her phone screen with its bright _9:36_. “Just dark.”

The young woman chewed her lip, pulling her periwinkle overcoat tight around her shoulders and glancing down the street with trepidation. “Of course if I’d known it was going to be this dark, I would have had my friend pick me up…”

 _‘She doesn’t seriously think I’m about to let her walk home at this time of night, does she?’_  Adrien thought with an incredulous shake of the head.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get you a cab,” he said, stepping up to the curb. Marinette let her mouth fall open, looking for second as if she was going to protest his offer before pressing her lips back together in a tentative smile.

“Oh, that’s… that’s really nice of you.”

“It’s the least I could do after you showed me such an awesome night.”

“I’m glad to hear you h-had fun,” Marinette responded, wincing just a bit at her stutter. If not for the fact it indicated she was uncomfortable, Adrien would have found the tick endearing, adorable even. As it was, he just nodded warmly, enjoying the way she returned his smile with one of her own.

 _‘God, she’s so cute…’_  he thought a bit dreamily, pulling his eyes away from where Marinette tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear to hail a passing taxi.

“I did have fun,” Adrien said, leading her towards the newly arrived car, “and I’d really love to do this again sometime. You know, if you also want to?”

They both knew the silent implication of his words, both knew what their second date would entail, and for a second the question hung heavy between them.

But only for a second.

“Absolutely,” Marinette replied with a nod, her voice soft but sincere. Adrien’s smile only brightened, the young man giving a breathless _“okay”_ before he scrambled for his wallet under the driver’s sharp eye.

Being new to the whole “sugar lifestyle”, Adrien hadn’t really known what to expect from tonight, and his internet searching had yielded varied results. Some people said first dates should be strictly business (discussion of terms et al), while others said the first meet-up should be fun and casual (a time to enjoy and spoil). Thoroughly stumped, Adrien had elected to follow his own instinct, stopping by the ATM on the way over to withdraw some cash.

Of course as he stood there now, very obviously leafing through a large sum of money, he couldn’t help but think he had perhaps jumped the gun.

 _‘You aren’t taking advantage of her,’_ the young man reminded himself, fighting down a wave of embarrassment at his own overcompensating tendencies as he flashed what was hopefully a casual smile. _‘Just being a gentleman, is all.’_

Marinette’s eyes widened just smidgen as Adrien (mumbling something about “cab fare”) passed her the €100 note, but she didn’t object, and for that he was thankful.

“All right, this should get you home safely,” he chirped, trying to breeze right past their first (for lack of better word) _transaction_  as he thumped on the hood of the cab.

“Oh, definitely,” Marinette responded with an equally chipper lilt. “Very safe.”

Adrien felt himself relax, his strenuously held smile melting into something much more comfortable as he noticed her subtly slip the bill into the depths of her purse. “Can you do me favor?”

“Anything.”

“Text me when you get home,” Adrien appealed, trying not to let his mind skew her words into something much more than a simple reply. “Just so I know you got there okay.”

Marinette nodded, both in answer and as thanks for him opening the car door for her. At the last second she turned, poised to enter the interior of the cab but first fixing him with flushed smile of gratitude.

“Have a good night,” Adrien said, trying not to waver under her enthralling gaze. _‘God… she’s very,_ very _cute.’_

“You too,” Marinette murmured, seeming to mull something over for a moment before he could practically see a mental _‘fuck it’_  flash across her eyes. The young woman leaned in, ghosting a chaste kiss across his cheek before ducking into the car with a quick slam of the door.

Adrien watched the black sedan rattle off, his heart rocketing against his ribs to the point where he had to seek out a nearby column to support his weight. The night air sizzled where it touched the side of his face, making an almost audible sound as he focused on not combusting altogether.

Of course it wasn’t her gentle peck that inspired such an intense response from the usually composed Adrien Agreste.

No, it was the words Marinette had whispered across his skin when she'd drawn away. The words Adrien had enjoyed hearing far more than he would have ever imagined and the words he now knew would not leave his mind until she uttered them again.

_“Thank you, Daddy…”_

…

 

 _‘Fuck…’_ Adrien thought, running one hand through his now-wild blonde hair with a swallow. _‘Do I… do I have a daddy kink?’_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette gets herself a Daddy, and Adrien gets kinkshamed (as we all must).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow ya’ll, the response to the last chapter was insanely positive, and I’m so glad to see people enjoying the au so far!
> 
> I’d like to give a quick shout-out to the sugar babies/various sex workers that came into my inbox with kind words of gratitude over my portrayal of this subject, ya’ll are the best. As a (currently on break) sugar baby myself, I’m trying to keep this story as true to life as I can, but I really appreciate the support and offers of help I’ve received from my sisters/brothers/siblings in the biz. I hope this fic remains a realistic depiction of the oft-misconstrued sugar lifestyle.
> 
> Quick announcement: This story WILL NOT include age play elements. While I, for one, would never shame a kink shared between consenting adults, the concept of littles, age play, and infantilization makes me very uncomfortable with its sometime pedophilic connotations and I’d prefer to leave it out. Yes, Marinette will be calling Adrien daddy in this fic, but it is more a nod to their sugar relationship than any sort of insane fetish thing.
> 
> BUT ANYWAYS.
> 
> Enjoy, Sinners.

“Would you look at that? An entire best friend!” Alya grinned in greeting. “Nice to see you _not_  in a dozen fleshy pieces floating around the Seine.”

“Good afternoon to you too,” Marinette grumbled good-naturedly, stepping through the door into Alya’s studio apartment.

As always, she immediately made herself comfortable in her home away from home, slipping off her shoes and coat before hopping onto one of the barstools and snagging a bottle of soda from where it sat atop the counter.

“You’re smiling,” Alya pointed out, padding into the kitchen and leaning across the bar.

When they were in lycée, the girls had always talked about becoming roommates once they moved away from their parents, but those plans had been dashed when they realized their respective universities were on opposite sides of the city. Needless to say, neither of them had been too keen on having to endure a daily hour-long commute, but they still made the trek to see each other at least once a week.

Gotta keep the friendship strong.

 “Am I?” Marinette hummed, taking an idle sip from her drink as she tried to ease the grin off her face.

“You are,” Alya said flatly. “Can I go out on a limb here and say the date went well?”

Marinette nodded fiercely, though "well” was a bit of an understatement for describing the events of Saturday.

Her date would have gone “well” if the guy had ended up _not_  being a douchebag, had 75% of his hair, and split a combo platter with her at some mid-range diner. “Well” would have left Marinette feeling more or less comfortable with the idea of sugar dating, and left her with some ideas to think on, to ponder.

Having a sweet, kind, down-to-earth _literal supermodel_  treat her to a 5 star dinner and a movie was in a whole other realm above “well”.

Two or three realms, even.

“It went _great_. Fantastic, actually,” Marinette said, spinning in her seat. “In fact, I think it was the best date I’ve ever been on!”

“Damn, how much did he slip you at the end?” Alya questioned with a raise of her brows.

“It’s not like that,” Marinette responded. She was met with a suspicious hum. “Okay it was a hundred _but_ I genuinely had a good time with him! God, Alya, he was so polite. He put an arm around me when I was cold and listened to me talk about video games—”

“You did _not_  go on another Mortal Kombat rant.”

“I did! But Adrien didn’t even seem to mind!” Marinette sighed, trying to reel in her excitement as she polished off her soda.

“Okay, so he was nice… but what about looks-wise?” Alya interrogated, grabbing the empty bottle and placing another in front of her friend. She had learned long ago that a bit of caffeine was all it took to loosen Marinette's tongue, so she made sure to stock up when she wanted to get details out of her.

Of course, the fact said friend was downing hard root beer didn’t hurt matters, either…

“He was so handsome,” Marinette exalted. “Not just passable or even average, he was honest-to-God handsome! In fact he—“

She snapped her jaw shut, swallowing down the words “Agreste” and “model” before they could slip out. Adrien hadn’t explicitly told her he wanted their correspondence to stay a secret, and he _had_  taken her out to a public place, but Marinette wasn’t sure if she should be blabbing his name around. Especially when their _“thing”_ wasn’t exactly a _“thing”_  just yet.

“He was blond,” she finished instead, as if that were all the explanation needed.

“Your favorite,” Alya quipped with a smile. “So, is he the one then? Have you found your daddy?”

“We already have a second date scheduled for Wednesday,” Marinette said in answer, earning an excited cheer.

“Look at you, all grown up and gold digging.” Alya wiped a fake tear with a dramatic sob. “My little Marinette has been adopted right out from under me.”

“Euugh, don’t say it like that,” Marinette responded with a shiver. “He’s not going to babysit me or anything.”

“As far as you know,” Alya murmured cryptically. “So, did you guys discuss terms and expectations at all?”

“You told me not to,” Marinette reminded her, “so no. It was all very casual.”

“Good,” Alya praised. “That’s how it should be. But you realize the second date is when that kind of talk needs to go down, right? I don’t want you blindly charging into something because you were distracted by a pretty blond with a fat wallet…”

“I know,” Marinette said, chewing her lip as she worked through her second drink.

Despite how amazing their first date had gone, she was still a bit on edge over what came next. Engaging in small talk with Adrien was one thing, but sitting down and explicitly discussing the sexual and financial terms of a potential relationship was another beast entirely.

A scary beast. Like with claws and shit.

And for the next three days, that scary beast with claws and shit stalked Marinette as she stewed over the possibilities, alternating between soaring hopefulness and crashing fear over what kind of demands her potential suitor might make.

 _‘What if he wants me to be with him 24/7?’_  she thought while checking out at the supermarket.

 _‘What if he’s into some crazy kinky shit?’_  she worried mid-yoga pose. _‘Like really dark, twisted stuff?’_

_‘What if he—‘_

“Cuh- _cuddling_?” Marinette coughed, nearly choking on her drink as the sip went down the wrong pipe. The noise drew the eyes of about half the other patrons in the coffee house, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel embarrassed. “Did you just say… _cuddling?_ ”

Adrien backpedaled immediately at her exclamation, straightening in his chair with a worried gulp. He looked vexed, hands fluttering as if he wanted to either reach out to thump her cough-shuddering back or flee altogether.

“If you aren’t comfortable with that I completely understand!” he rushed to say, lowering his voice with a wince when the words came out too loud in the otherwise tranquil café. “I was just thinking I could… hold your hand? Maybe put arm around you when we’re hanging out? —But of course we don’t have to do any of that if it creeps you out!”

Marinette was too stunned to answer for a second, brain trying and failing to compute the fact that she had a man asking for her consent to _cuddle._  

In exchange for money.

Hell, Marinette had come half-expecting Adrien to smack down a list of sexual acts he expected on a weekly basis and then drag her to his place. Yet here he was, worried about overstepping her boundaries by _holding her hand._

It took several moments and some major mental hurdling, but her mind eventually caught up.

“No— _yes!_  I-I mean…” Marinette dropped her head and took another, more careful sip of her strawberry frappé (a moderately-priced selection from the menu) in an attempt to reel in her shock. She surfaced with a large inhalation. “Cuddling is fine! Cuddling is great actually, I love cuddling.”

Adrien’s expression morphed into one of tentative excitement.

“It’s just…” Marinette continued, shaking her head in wonder and confusion. “I'd assumed you’d be wanting more out of this. More… sugar, that is.”

“Oh,” her date breathed back, pausing to take a taste of his own drink (some skinny chai tea fit for a model) as his eyes swirled with contemplation. “I hadn’t really considered much past that...”

Both parties sat deep in thought for a moment.

“Well,” Marinette ventured, slipping a piece of paper from her purse and unfolding it atop the table, “maybe we should start discussing the times and frequency of our dates. Then maybe we can decide what we feel comfortable doing to— er. _With_. With each other.” She ducked and hunched her shoulders, trying not to scream. “We can decide what we want to do _with_  e-each other.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Adrien said, mercifully glossing over her slip of the tongue.

“Awesome,” Marinette chirped, forcefully setting herself back on track and reviewing her list.

_‘Dates, times, sugar… Payment…’_

“My friend wrote this up for me,” she said by way of explanation, noting Adrien’s curious crane of the neck. “She’s pretty experienced with the whole sugar dating thing, so she made me a little cheat sheet for today’s negotiations.”

“Be sure to thank her for me.”

“Can do.” Marinette took a deep breath, finger tracing down the paper.

Go time.

“Okay,” she began. “First it seems like we need to co-ordinate our schedules: figure out how many times a week we want to meet up, and then plan which days.”

 “Oh— uh, all right,” Adrien said, eyebrows raised at her sudden businesslike demeanor, but diving right in anyway.

“I get my work schedule on a week-by-week basis, so I can’t really confirm anything. I usually get off around six, so evenings are always good. Weekends too, more often than not.” Adrien grimaced at his own half-assed answer, throwing Marinette a shrug. “Why don’t you tell me when you’re available? It might be easier that way.”  

“Well, my weeks are all roughly the same,” Marinette intoned slowly. “I’ve got classes every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, so those days are more or less booked.” She ticked each obligation off on a finger as she listed them. “Sunday is when my online assignments are due, so I’m usually either working on those or catching up on sleep.”

 _‘Is sleep a legitimate excuse?’_  Marinette wondered, growing panicked for a second until she spotted Adrien’s knowing nod.

“Same here,” he said. “I always keep Sundays free for down time.” She exhaled.

“Okay, cool,” Marinette beamed, trudging forward. “Beyond that I have my yoga class every Wednesday morning, but I think that’s it.”

“So what I’m hearing is Friday, Saturday, and Wednesday evenings?” Adrien ventured. “Is three times a week too much for you, or…?”

“No, that sounds about right,” Marinette said. “Does that work for you?”

“Yeah,” Adrien replied, a smile stretching its way across his face. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good…” Marinette breathed back, struck again by his sunny looks as a glint of pearly white captured her attention.

 _‘Of course he has perfect teeth,’_  she mused, eyes lazily tracing them as she took another pull at her frappé. _‘Perfect teeth sunk into a perfect jaw and outlined by a perfect pair of—‘_

“What?” Marinette asked, snapping from her daze as she registered that that perfect pair was trying to tell her something.

“I was just wondering what you wanted to do on our dates,” Adrien repeated, quirking an eyebrow as Marinette’s senses came back to her. “Are you okay there?”

“Oh, me? Y-yeah, I’m good. Just…”

_‘Fantasizing about your mouth.’_

“…spaced out for a second.” Marinette shook her head, fixing her face with what she hoped was a casual smile. “Well, my handy-dandy cheat sheet here says you’re the one who should plan the dates, but I don’t mind brainstorming with you.”

“All right,” Adrien said, steepling his fingers. “How did we feel about the dinner and a movie?”

“I vote for more of that, definitely. Honestly, that was my first hearty meal in weeks,” Marinette admitted, earning a laugh from her date.

“Same here.”

She blinked.

“Model diet,” Adrien explained with a wistful shrug. “I second your vote, I think we both deserve at least one dinner out a week. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Marinette confirmed, mentally leaping for joy at the thought of dumping out all the old ramen she had stored up. _‘Goodbye Muncharan!’_

“Okay, what else?” Adrien said.

“How do you feel about staying in and cooking?” Marinette proposed.

“Aside from the fact that I have exactly zero experience in the kitchen…?” He trailed off with a sheepish shrug.

“Let me rephrase that,” she laughed. “How do you feel about staying in and eating?”

“You… want to cook for me?” Adrien asked in wonder. Marinette gave an enthusiastic nod. “That would be awesome! I’ve got this whole big kitchen with all these appliances I don’t know how to work and a fridge filled with nothing but yogurt and milk.”

“I may be a baker’s daughter, but I’ll need more ingredients than that,” Marinette giggled.

“You can help me stock up, then. Didn’t your profile say you liked going to the farmers' market?”

“It did.”

“Bam, problem solved,” Adrien finished, extending his nearly empty cup out to clink her own before they both dove in for a toast. Marinette’s tongue swiped at a bit of whipped cream as it dribbled down her lips, and the motion captured a certain pair of green eyes.

_‘Interesting…’_

She couldn’t help but notice the faint disappointment on Adrien's face when she claimed a napkin to remove the rest of the sweet liquid from her chin.

Suddenly, she felt a bit warmer than she had a moment ago.

“S-so,” Adrien continued, clearing his throat, “we’ve got some ideas going, we’ve outlined a schedule… what’s next on your list?”

Marinette didn’t even have to look.

“Well,” she began, folding up the list and buckling down for business, “the last thing we need to discuss is…”

There was no other word for it than—

“Payment,” Marinette said, keeping her gaze composed despite her irrational need to blush.

“Payment,” Adrien echoed with a resolute nod.

There was a stretch of silence.

“What are—“

“Do you—“

Both of them spoke at once, snapping their jaws shut as the other tried to speak. That led to a sort of awkward vocal shuffle until Adrien was given the green light to talk first.

“I guess I just need to know what kind of help you’re looking for,” he said earnestly, leaning back in his chair with an open expression written across his face. “I’ve told you what I’m missing in my life… told you what kind of needs I have…” Adrien trailed off, looking at her expectantly.

Marinette took a deep breath.

“I need fabric,” she admitted, forcing down her reservations in favour of being frank. “My rent is manageable. I can afford groceries. But since I’m in my last year at design school while _also_  running a small business on the side, my fabric budget is hefty. You wouldn’t think something like that would cost—“

She shut the sentence down _hard_ when she remembered she was speaking to the heir of the Agreste clothing empire. As if he could guess her exact line of thought, Adrien chuckled, the sound cutting through the tension that had built between them until Marinette found herself giggling right alongside him.

“Fabric,” he repeated, tapping at the table with a small smile. “I can certainly help you get your hands on plenty of that. Actually…” Adrien held up a finger, digging his wallet out from his back pocket and sifting through its contents before locating what he sought. “Here.”

He extended a silver business card out to her. Marinette accepted the heavy slip of paper and turned it over in her hands. One side was blank, while the other was printed with the simple image of what looked like a black butterfly.

Or perhaps a moth.

“My father gave it to me,” Adrien explained with a shrug. “All the designers and models in his company have one. Basically you flash it at any vendor in the textiles district, and your fabric is free.”

 _“Free?”_ Marinette exhaled, clutching the tiny treasure tighter.

“Okay, maybe not free,” Adrien amended, “but _you_  certainly won’t have to pay. I’m pretty sure it just goes under the company budget.”

“And you’re sure I can have this?” Marinette grilled.

“I’m not using it, and I bet your purchases will be a drop in the bucket compared to what all the other designers spend on their fabric each month.” Adrien must have sensed her hesitation, because he reached out to wrap a hand around her own. “Trust me, I’d rather you use it for something worthwhile than have it sit idle in my wallet.”

“I… okay,” Marinette said, giving a nod as she tightened her grip on the precious little lifeline. “That would be perfect, thank you.”

Adrien smiled as she accepted the gift, withdrawing his hand so Marinette could stash the card away before continuing on in his friendly voice. “So, what else?”

“I don’t think there _is_  anything else,” Marinette responded truthfully, having already received far more than she set out to get this afternoon.

“What about yoga?” Adrien said.

“…What about yoga?” she echoed suspiciously.

“Do you pay for a gym membership for that?” he clarified.

“I do.”

“You don’t have to. I can take care of that.”

“A-all right,” Marinette nodded. “That would definitely help.”

“And what about transportation?” Adrien continued, bracing his elbows on the table and fixing her with a (dare she say?) doting stare. “Do you take the metro?”

“I do,” she confirmed.

“I can take care of that too,” he offered with a smile.

A bit overwhelmed by Adrien’s generosity (not to mention his eagerness to please), Marinette had to blink a few times in an effort to keep from slumping in her chair. Sure, she knew in the grand scheme of sugar dating his proposals were on the lower end of the spectrum, but for a struggling grad student…

 It was just like _Christmas._

“That would _also_ really help,” Marinette admitted, returning his smile with one of her own. “Thanks, Adrien.”

“You sure there’s nothing else I can do?” he asked, genuinely seeming to want her suggestions. “No more bills I can pick up? Cable? Internet?”

“I don’t have cable.”

“Do you want cable?”

“I don’t have _time_ for cable,” Marinette laughed, thinking back to the pile of uncut patterns piled in the corner of her room.

“So, internet,” Adrien repeated, looking her in the eye. “You gonna let me get that?”

“I won’t try and stop you,” she conceded, putting her hands up in mock defeat. Adrien grinned.

“Good,” he said. “Now I feel like we’re on a bit more even footing here.” Marinette gaped.

“You just lifted half of my monthly costs off my shoulders in exchange for a home-cooked meal and a hug,” she pointed out, nearly incredulous over the fact he wasn’t seeking more in exchange for his money. “I’d hardly say this is mutually beneficial.”

“My life has been characterized by a distinct lack of home-cooked meals and hugs,” Adrien replied with a shrug. “Trust me, we’re even.”  

Marinette felt her brows droop at his sorrowful undertone, wondering just what kind of childhood could lead someone to be so starved for basic human kindness. Adrien must have sensed her shift in demeanor, as he was quick to give her a smile.

“That came out way sadder than I meant it to,” he said with a nervous chuckle, obviously attempting to lighten the mood. “Sorry about that.”

“Not at all,” Marinette rushed to say, eyes searching his. “No need to apologize.”

Though she hadn’t noticed it before (having been shamefully blinded by the whole supermodel exterior), there was a buried melancholy in Adrien’s face. It lurked in the barely-there bags under his eyes, the almost worrying cut of his cheek bones. The signs were subtle, as if he’d gotten used to glossing over them, but now that Marinette had started to pick them out, it was painfully obvious how much he needed a good meal and dose of affection.

Marinette couldn’t even begin to imagine going weeks, much less _years_ , without one or the other. Growing up, her childhood had been full of nothing if not good meals and constant affection — that was what happened when you had two adoring parents and a bakery beneath your bedroom — and that upbringing was probably why she had the sudden urge to make sure he was being properly taken care of.

She had the urge to drag Adrien to her apartment and feed him everything she had stored away in her pantry. Every boxed meal or raw vegetable or carefully hidden stash of candy, until he’d eaten his fill. She had the urge to wrap him up in no less than three — no, four! — fuzzy blankets and hiss at anyone who tried to wake him up before he’d gotten a solid ten hours of sleep. She had the urge to (despite their 60-plus pound weight difference) gather Adrien up in her lap and give him a hug for every day he’d ever gone without one.

She had all these urges… and they were hardly through their second date.

What in the world was this guy doing to her?

“Are you sure there’s nothing else I can give you?” Marinette asked, speaking with as much sincerity as she could while capturing his gaze. “Nothing else you want?”

Adrien swallowed, mulling something over as he shifted around in his seat, and Marinette spurred him on with a nod. She wondered if it was normal for her to _want_  to give him more — normal to hope that he would _ask_  for more — or if he was just an extraordinary case.

After brief pause, Adrien spoke.

“I’d like to kiss you,” he admitted slowly, tensing as if waiting for some inevitable rejection. “Probably since I first saw you.”

Marinette sighed in— what?

Relief? Desire?

Relieved desire?

Regardless, she sighed.

“I’d like to kiss you too,” she said brightly.

The confession eased Adrien’s shoulders from where they had bunched up near his jaw, his body relaxing like a weight had been lifted off his back. “Great,” he breathed, flashing another megawatt smile. “That’s… that’ll be great.”

 _‘Great,'_ her own mind echoed.

“So… anything else?” Marinette coaxed, fighting down her own bout of butterflies as she thought of what those lips might feel like against her mouth.

Or her throat…

Or her—

“Would you mind tagging along as my date to industry functions?” Adrien threw out as an afterthought. “They’re boring, but I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

Marinette blinked in surprise. Of all the things she expected him to ask, that had been near the bottom of the list (though not in a bad way).

“You do realize you just asked a _fashion_  student if she wanted to attend VIP _fashion_  events on the arm of a notable model and heir to one of the most highly regarded _fashion_  houses in Paris?” Marinette gave a wondering huff. “Yeah, I think I’d be okay with tagging along, but…”

She paused to chew her lip, and Adrien leaned forward with an intent “go ahead” gesture.

“But are you sure you’re okay with that?” Marinette asked. “Being seen with me, that is?”

Adrien half-frowned in confusion. “Why in the world would I not want to be seen with you?”

“Well, you said you needed privacy. I just thought that maybe you wanted to keep us— _this_  a secret.”

“I needed my privacy while I searched,” Adrien clarified, raising one hand, “to make sure I didn’t have the wrong kind of girls flocking to my profile.” He paused to grant her a kind smile. “But now that I’ve found the right girl, there’s no need for secrecy.”

“So you don’t mind telling people we are…?” Marinette was _not_ about to be the one to put a label on this thing they had, so she let the question dangle. And after a brief game of chicken…

“Dating?” Adrien tried, glancing at her sidelong as if to gauge her reaction to the term.

_Dating._

They were dating.

She was dating a supermodel.

No.

She was _sugar dating_  a supermodel.

“Yes,” Marinette chimed, her head spinning as the situation seemed to catch up with her all at once. “You’re okay with us dating in public?”

 “Absolutely,” Adrien affirmed. “Are you?”

“Absolutely,” she echoed, exchanging nods as they settled into another stretch of companionable silence. Adrien looked about as overwhelmed as Marinette felt, and for a solid half minute the two nursed their empty cups as they stewed in their own thoughts.

At this point the café was nearly empty. A quick peek at the dusk-lit windows confirmed her suspicions that their afternoon date had stretched on well into the evening, but Marinette couldn’t find it in herself to worry about the plethora of half-finished assignments she had waiting for her back home.

Because despite the fact they’d already covered everything on the list, she didn’t want to leave Adrien’s company. She wracked her brain for some excuse to stay, tried everything in her power to concoct some plausible explanation as to why they should find something else to do or say. Hell, at this point she wouldn’t mind going to see another movie if it meant two more hours spent with her—

…her…

...

“Do you want me to call you Daddy?!” she blurted, drawing the gaze of one of the baristas as they wiped down the counter for the night.

Marinette sucked a breath between her clenched teeth, flushing at having spat out her unfiltered thoughts without taking the time to phrase them a little more tactfully. She glanced at Adrien, and was surprised to find he looked even more flustered than she felt— if that was at all possible. He was fidgeting, even going so far as to do the whole tugging-on-the-collar-with-a-gulp thing, and Marinette was suddenly _very_  sure she’d done something _very_  wrong.

 _‘Great,’_  she admonished herself, willing her body to sink into the floor, _‘now he thinks you’re some kind of depraved sex fiend looking for a sippy cup and a spanking…’_

Though now that she thought about it… the spanking part didn’t seem too—

“I don’t…” Adrien began, snapping Marinette from her own confusing line of thought. “I don’t t-think—“

“No, no of course!” she exclaimed.

_‘Disappear… DISAPPEAR…’_

“That’s so fine!” Marinette assured him, reeling in a nervous laugh and nearly crushing her empty cup between her clenching hands. “If it makes you uncomfortable then just… just forget I said anything.” She was met with a wave of his hand.

“It’s not that it makes me uncomfortable per se,” Adrien responded slowly, the words coaxing Marinette’s eyebrows up in interest. “In fact I…” He took a deep breath.

_“I-kind-of-really-liked-it-when-you-called-me-daddy-the-other-night-and-I-have-no-clue-why-but-it-was-really-nice-and-I’d-really-like-to-hear-you-say-it-to-me-again-sometime-maybe-when-we’re-in-private??”_

Adrien's jaw snapped shut.

The café was silent.

“That was… quite the earful,” Marinette said with a composure she must have pulled from the farthest reaches of her ass. Truth be told, she’d kind of zoned out after “I like it when you call me daddy”, only dropping back down to earth after hearing “in private.”

She wasn’t sure what surprised her the most: That Adrien had admitted to wanting to be called Daddy when they were alone…

…or that she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea.

“Yeah, it was. I’ve been told I need to work on my conversation skills,” Adrien mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose before letting both hands drag down his face. Hidden behind his palms, he took in a deep breath. “So… do you plan on kinkshaming me all at once or will you stretch it out over the course of a few days?” He peeked between his fingers pitifully. “Just so I know whether or not to clear my schedule.”

_‘Is he…?’_

Marinette barked out a laugh that was neither feminine nor flirty, the sound escaping her along with days of pent-up doubts and worries as she nearly cried in relief. Adrien had somehow managed to defuse the heavy cloud of embarrassment that had settled over them with a simple joke, snapping the tension between the two with a few well-placed sentences.

She’d done it.

She’d found the most handsome, generous, and endearing sugar daddy in the world.

She was waiting for the catch but it wouldn’t come.

She’d _done it._

Adrien just watched as she utterly split her seams in front him, but Marinette couldn’t find it in her to stop laughing. Nothing about the situation was funny, she knew, but that didn’t stop her from losing herself to the sheer hilarity that was her current station in life.

Sugar baby to a super model — a title she'd _never_ foreseen herself earning.

Eventually Marinette’s racket was joined by a low chuckle. Then a snicker. Then a full on roar. And before either of them knew it, they were both howling with a shared laughter that shook the table and rattled the silverware. The pair laughed and gasped and made faltering eye contact only to crack right up again, voices loud and free and—

They were kicked out of the coffee house about a minute later.

There they were, two adults who paid rent and had jobs, being escorted out of a public building on a Wednesday night as they continued to giggle like school children. The manager muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “filthy kinksters” as she closed the door in their faces, but the jab only spurred a new burst of laughter from the pair that echoed across the barren streets.

Eventually, they wound back down.

Strolling down the sidewalk as their breathing evened out and their eyes dried up, Adrien and Marinette let their hilarity melt away until they could safely look at each other without cracking up. It was another cold evening, with the chilly Parisian wind blowing right through Marinette like she was nothing, and her shiver didn’t go unnoticed by the young man pacing beside her.

Adrien raised a questioning brow, shifting himself closer and perking his elbow up in silent invitation. Marinette met him halfway, hands buried in her pockets, and this time the arm that wrapped around her shoulder didn’t shy away.

Neither did she.

“We can never go back there again, can we?” Marinette asked, managing her first coherent sentence for the past five minutes despite the way her stomach fluttered at their proximity. _‘He smells good,’_ she mused, resisting the urge to bury her nose in the heavy material draped across her shoulder and lose herself in the comforting scent.

“Absolutely not,” Adrien confirmed with a pseudo-serious shake of his head. His droll attitude was almost enough to make her lose it again, but Marinette toughed it out, drawing her coat tight around her neck with a smile.

“New date idea,” she proposed, nestling into the heat of his tall form walking beside her. “We see how long it take us to get banned from respectable public venues for being deviants.”

“And when we run out of places in Paris?” Adrien questioned.

“It’s a three hour drive to Belgium.”

“And when we run out of places there?”

“It’s a two hour train to London,” Marinette said with a grin, peering up to find a similar expression on her—

She was going to say partner _(sorry Chat, time to share your title)_ , just for her own sanity.

—peering up to find a similar expression on her partner’s face.

“Time consuming,” Adrien mused, “but I think it could be worth it.”

The moonlight glinting off his blond hair as he tilted his head was not only a distraction to Marinette, but a reminder of how very late it had gotten. How long had they been talking?

“I should get home,” she said reluctantly, hating the truth of her words.

“Oh… yeah, of course,” Adrien responded. She couldn’t be sure, but Marinette thought she heard a certain glumness in his voice. Adrien gave her one last lingering look before scanning the road behind him. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to hail a cab—“

“It’s all right,” Marinette cut in, inclining her head in the direction of her apartment. “My place is only a few blocks away.”

“Walk you there?” he offered hopefully.

“That’d be great,” she said with another giddy smile.

It was strange, really, to feel this at ease with someone so soon after meeting. The arm around her shoulder should have felt foreign; the small puffs of breath that radiated from her date’s face or the loping pace at which he walked beside her should have taken some getting used to, yet everything about him already seemed learned to Marinette.

She fought with the temptation to take him on a detour, maybe duck down a few side streets to stretch out their journey, but maturity won out. And, all too quickly, the pair eventually found themselves stopping at her familiar stoop.

“This is me,” Marinette said with a nod to her door.

The warmth of his embrace was quickly replaced by the night chill as Adrien slung his arm away from her, and Marinette found it a real struggle to not chase his retreating body heat.

 _‘Oh now you’re just being needy,’_  her rationality chided. _‘You’ve got blankets inside.’_

 _‘Yeah, but none of them smell like him,’_  her more weak-willed self whined back.

Marinette hushed them both.

“So…” Adrien began, rocking on his heels with hands stuffed in his coat pockets. “That was…”

“Unlike any other date you’ve ever been on?” Marinette suggested.

“For sure,” he said.

“Same. But… not in a bad way, hopefully?” she questioned, toying with the wrought iron railing to her left as she ascended a single step.

“Oh, no! Definitely not,” Adrien rushed to say, “I always have a good time with you!” He gave a lopsided grin. “Well, that is. Both times I’ve had with you have been great, and I’m sure we’ll have more… great times?”

Marinette nodded, reeling in an impolite giggle as he scuffed his toe on the pavement. He was just so irresistibly earnest, it was disgusting really. “Yeah… good times.”

Another silence, less comfortable than the last.

“Honestly, I have no clue how to end this,” Adrien admitted with a vague wave at their standoff. “A handshake seems too…”

“Formal? Businesslike?”

“Exactly.”

“Well,” Marinette began, angling herself in invitation, “we did decide that… kissing was something we both wanted, right?”

She stood on the very bottom step of the stairway leading to her door, putting her at the perfect height to watch her date’s eyes flash in excitement at the suggestion.

“Yes,” Adrien said, taking what seemed like an almost unintentional step forward and closing the distance, “we did.”

“So?” she prompted, unable to contain her own excitement as she placed an expectant hand atop his shoulder. True to his gentlemanly nature, Adrien allowed his palm to settle at a polite spot on her mid-back, the fingers of his other hand twining with her own as they continued to grip the banister.

“So?” he breathed back. It took Marinette a few second to decipher why he wasn’t moving, but when she realized he was waiting for her explicit permission, she nearly melted for the fifth or so time that evening.

“You can kiss me,” she affirmed, giving his hand an encouraging squeeze as she willed him closer.  Adrien’s face broke out in a relieved grin, and it wasn’t a second later that his lips met with her own.

It was a fairly standard kiss — there were no wild moves or crazy heat behind it. But somehow its chaste nature seemed all the more endearing to Marinette. If she was being honest, she didn’t think she could have handled any fireworks after the afternoon she’d undergone, so the sparkler of his touch was much more manageable (and infinitely more pleasurable) than any make-out.

It was an enjoyable kiss, one that didn’t leave room for overthinking.

One she couldn’t wait to get more of later.

They parted after a modest amount of time, pulling back to twin smiles. The hand on Marinette’s back was the first to retreat, but Adrien’s other one remained threaded with her own even as he took a single step backwards, and the weight of it was sorely missed when at last their fingers detangled themselves moments later.

With a promise to see her soon (and text her sooner), Adrien turned to make his way down the street. Marinette watched him go, releasing a breath she hadn’t even realize she’d been holding until it slipped out alongside what just might have been a giggle.  

She could still feel a buzzing sensation reverberating across her lips long after she climbed up to her apartment.

She felt his touch as she dumped her stockpile of ramen.

She saw his smile in the glaring screen of her computer. ( _“Are you sure you’d like to delete your profile? This action cannot be undone!”_ )

She heard his voice under Tikki’s as the pair gossiped and gabbed.

In fact, the giddy warmth followed Marinette through the whole rest of the evening, sticking with her as she showered and flossed and finally tucked herself in bed for the night. It stuck with her as she stared up at her dark ceiling, keeping her lingering doubts at bay as she ruminated on the day’s proceedings.

_‘A sugar daddy…’_

Damp, inky hair skittered across her pillow when she shook her head in wonder.

_‘I, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, have a sugar daddy.’_

The sensation of Adrien’s lips didn't keep until the morning.

But there was always Friday to look forward to.

 

* * *

 

If you had walked up to fifteen-year-old Adrien Agreste on the street—

Well, you probably would have been stopped by his bodyguard.

But for this particular hypothetical, let’s pretend the boy was alone. For narrative's sake.

If you had walked up to fifteen-year-old Adrien Agreste on the street and asked him about Ladybug, you would have gotten no less than 20 solid minutes of lovestruck monologuing on her courage, beauty, altruism and all-around charm. The boy would have laid out, fact by fact, all the reasons why she was the most flawless girl in Paris. He would have pulled out graphs and charts, outlining the ways they were positively perfect for each other, and then offered to read the list of possible baby names he’d written up.

He was an overly sentimental kid, okay?

Now, if you had walked up to twenty-one-year-old Adrien Agreste on the street and asked him about Ladybug… you would have gotten a much more moderate response.

He’d probably still wax poetic about all of her heroic qualities — maybe a get a bit starry-eyed as he recalled her daring and selfless nature — but he’d managed to let go of the worst of his idolizing tendencies. Years of comfortable companionship with his partner had tempered his once all-consuming crush into something much more practical, teenage infatuation melting into a more adult appreciation for one of the only steadfast constants in his life. And Adrien was proud to say he no longer carried a notebook filled with doodled hearts.

(The list he’d thrown out ages ago, but the names he still remembered.)

He was lonely, and Ladybug was there (or at least that was how Adrien liked to rationalize his embarrassingly fierce crush), and eventually he had learned to accept her love in any form. Whether it was the utterly platonic teases they exchanged while they worked… or the admittedly less-than-platonic glances she threw his way when she was sure he wasn’t looking.

Anyway!

Adrien had turned the page on that particular fantasy, and even dated here and there when his schedule allowed. Not that he enjoyed Ladybug’s company any less than he did way back when — in fact, their meetups remained the undisputed highlight of his week.

Did he mention she was his best friend?

Ladybug was his best friend.

And like all good best friends, they still made time for each other, even when things got particularly busy outside of the mask.

When they were in lycée (well when she was in lycée and he was lycée-aged), Ladybug and Chat Noir had just been two kids with magical jewelry and homework to avoid. As such, they’d made a point of dicking around with said magical jewelry as much as possible, going out for patrols between 3-4 times a week. Their outings were a joke really, Adrien could count on one hand the number of times they’d actually come across an akuma while stalking across the rooftops, but they did offer up the opportunity for a little night’s exercise and dose of healthy conversation for the lonely homeschooler.

It didn’t last, though.

As the years dragged on and their civilian responsibilities had piled up, they’d had to actually sit down and begin scheduling patrols. Every Monday night was what they’d decided on, from just after eleven until two in the morning. One patrol a week to keep up some semblance of being Paris’ trusted protectors while still maintaining their responsibility to their daytime workload.

Being adults sucked.

What _didn’t_ suck was that they’d managed to defeat today’s akuma without having to use their special abilities.

Chat let out a whoop as his Lady expertly snagged the cursed object from the villain’s grasp, smashing it into the pavement and possibly breaking some sort of record for how badass one person could be. Slipping his staff back into its proper holster, he loped over to her position across the park.

It had become an unspoken tradition between Paris’ heroes that when the blue moon occasion arose where they took down an enemy sans Cataclysm and Lucky Charm free, they would follow up their victory with a little daylight gab time. So when the newly-purified akuma flitted away without the accompaniment of a telltale Miraculous beep, the duo exchanged excited smiles and zipped off together in search of a perch.

They settled on an old standby: the bowels of their city’s famous tower. Perfect and private.

“It has been far too long since I’ve been able to talk to you in the sunlight,” Adrien began, flashing his partner a trademark wink that she just as predictably batted away. “What’s new, Bugaboo?”

“School, work, schoolwork.” Ladybug slumped down beside him, letting her legs swing freely from the rung without fear. Even if she did fall, it wouldn’t be more than an inconvenience for the heroine; she'd taken the same dive countless times before.

“Sounds boring,” Adrien said, equally at ease with their precarious perch. “You need to get out more, my Lady.”

“I get out just the right amount, thank you,” she retorted with a friendly elbow to his side. Adrien watched a lazy smile stretch across her face. “I met someone.”

“You met an actual real person?” he teased with mock incredulity. “With skin and organs?!”

“And hair and teeth, too!” Ladybug tossed back with just as much snark. Adrien laughed, ruminating on the coincidence of her meeting.

“Yeah, well, the someone _I_ met this week has all those things and more,” he boasted, letting his mind wander back to his date with Marinette. He hadn't thought it was possible, but he was starting to think he'd enjoyed their second outing even more than their first. Awkward pauses and kinkshaming aside, their “business date” had ended up being more pleasurable than all of his prior pleasure dates put together.

(All three or four of them, anyway.)

“Does your someone have a wonderful smile like mine does?” Ladybug asked, spacing out as she stared at the passing clouds.

“Probably more wonderful,” Adrien challenged, a grin slipping free at the memory of Marinette’s smile. Her laugh. He wasgoing to see her again tomorrow night. “Does your someone have as great a sense of humor as my someone does?”

“Definitely better,” Ladybug affirmed. “He had me on the floor in no time. —And not like that!” she rushed to add at his eyebrow wiggling response. “Let's see… is your someone sweet?”

“The sweetest,” Adrien no less than sighed. “Does your someone have a big dick?”

“Pass,” Ladybug said with a snort. “Does yours?”

“Does mine?”

“Does your special someone have a big dick?”

“I think it would be impolite to ask her,” Adrien laughed, leaning back to brace himself on his hands. Ladybug rested her head on his shoulder in a way that would have made his fifteen year old self melt, but now the gesture was as natural and platonic as could be. “Are you falling for your someone?” he whispered.

There was a pause, the silence companionable if their thoughts a bit loud.

“I shouldn’t be,” Ladybug answered honestly, voice soft as it rose into his ear. Adrien perked up at the statement, intrigued rather than jealous.

“I didn’t ask if you should. I asked if you are,” he murmured.

“Then yes,” Ladybug said. “Are you falling for your someone?”

“I shouldn’t be,” Adrien echoed.

“But…?” she coaxed, burrowing into his side as a chill wind swept through the eaves of the tower to dance across their entwined forms. One black arm slipped around her in an instant, drawing her close.

“Yes,” Adrien breathed, unable to enjoy the color of the sky when it was the wrong shade of blue. “I think I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know... MORE plot set-up. I'm actually incapable of being concise but I promise you that next chapter is when sin starts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very short and also I forgot to update for two years whoops but I still very much love this AU and hope to continue working on it as time permits (Minor smut warning ahead????)

“So, I don’t mean to sound rude here, but what are you _doing_ exactly?”

Marinette kicked her shoes off at the door to her apartment, nodding a quick hello to her roommates before making a beeline to her room. Thursdays were always especially tiring, and there was a mattress calling her name. “Are you talking about right now or my life in general? Because I’m not sure that’s a can of worms you’d like to unleash.”

Alya laughed through the phone, a desperate sound that spoke of shared experience, before breaking down into a comical sob. “No, no. I’m well aware of the whole ‘tragic fashion student building her empire on a foundation of overpriced textbooks’ thing you’ve got going for you. What I want to know is what are you doing _as a sugar baby_? I can’t for the life of me figure it out.”

“What do you mean?” Marinette asked, brow scrunching. The hand not holding her phone flew up to her hair, fumbling with her bun until Tikki mercifully flew over to help. The kwami reached out with both stubby yet nimble arms, removing the dozen or so pins holding Marinette's updo in place and releasing the dark locks to tumble across her shoulders. “I’ve been going on dates with my sugar daddy, same as any other.”

“Yes I know," Alya replied, and Marinette could hear her eyes roll through the phone. "But what are you doing _beyond_ that? To earn that hefty allowance?”

Marinette scoffed, mouthing a quick 'thank you' to Tikki before sprawling across her bed with a satisfied groan. “I’d hardly call it hefty.”

Now it was Alya's turn to scoff. “Girl… don’t act like I didn’t see you with a new Kate Spade bag on Tuesday.”

“Adrien picked it up from a shoot,” Marinette mumbled, knowing full well it was a bold-faced lie. Sure Adrien had _told_ her it was from a shoot, but the pastel pink bag he’d shyly presented to her on their date last Saturday (which just so happened to be the very next day after she’d made a passing comment on how she admired the brand) was part of the newest line.

Aka already on the shelves and aka not at any shoot he’d been to in the past few weeks.

“Spoiling is spoiling,” Alya broke through in her sing-songy voice, “And I know a spoiler when I see one!”

“You’ve never even seen Adrien,” Marinette argued.

“Don’t need to! I can sense him. I can sniff him out like a money seeking bloodhound.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“Ahh-woo~,” Alya howled, laughing again. “No but really, are you giving him handys beneath the table? Slipping him your panties at the end of the date? What are you plying? Reveal to me your secrets, o Patron Saint of Sugar Babies.”

“I have no secrets to reveal.”

“Yeah? I bet you haven’t even kissed him.”

“I’ve kissed him!” Marinette defended, like a middle schooler caught in a sleepover interrogation, “On the mouth!”

“Tongue?”

“Yes!”

“Enough tongue to earn a 500€ handbag?” Alya trilled. Damn her reporter skills!

“…Y-yes?” Marinette winced out, mentally calculating just how far she’d stuck her tongue down Adrien’s throat and weighing whether or not it warranted the gift it had earned. Her inclination said no, their kisses had been far too chaste for that.

“Now don’t get me wrong here,” Alya said, speaking through a mouthful of what must have been her dinner. Marinette’s eyes darted to the clock, surprised at how late it was already. “I’m glad you’re making bank. I’m just curious as to what you’re _doing_ for Adrien.”

“Well…”

Marinette blanked.

“I mean…”

Utterly totally blanked.

It was a simple question, “What are you doing for Adrien?”, a question she really should have had about twelve good answers for. Yet here she was. Struggling to come up with just one.

“We… talk?” Marinette tried, furrowing her brow once she realized the bleak truth of the statement.

Over the past couple weeks, she and Adrien had gone on a half-dozen more spectacular dates. They’d gone to ritzy restaurants whose menus weren’t printed with prices, grand theater houses, fairs, festivals and even managed a coffee date without being publicly expelled. Each time Adrien had treated her…and each time she’d had done nothing but talk.

Marinette like to think her conversation skills were pretty good- people _seemed_ to like chatting with her at least- but still she doubted anyone was eloquent enough to earn the kind of perks her simple conversations garnered. Was a silly story about the time she’d spilled her cup of tea on a design really worth what Adrien was paying? Were the teasing, oh-so-short kisses they shared at the end of each date?

Was _she?_

It was food for thought.

Marinette slumped forward on the bed, feeling irrationally selfish all of the sudden. _‘Am I a bad sugar baby?’_

Sensing her friend’s unease, Alya was quick to wrap up the conversation from there, and the groan Marinette gave from around her pillow sounded vaguely akin to a goodbye. She flopped, the very pictured of a disgruntled pre-teen, onto her back and stared at the ceiling until her eyes crossed. All the while agonizing over whether or not she was taking advantage of her partner.

Not Chat Noir. The other, more handsome, one.

Things should have been easy at that point. She and Adrien had literally sat down and mapped out the terms of their arrangement, point for point and right down to the nitty-gritty. Theirs was the most organized, thought-out relationship she’d had to date, yet somehow Marinette still found herself floundering for what exactly she was supposed to be _doing_.

Alya’s sage advice of “look pretty and act interested” was probably all well and good under normal circumstances. Normal sugar babies could fulfill their end of the bargain with a short skirt, an attentive smile and an innuendo here and there… but that was in addition to the other, more bedroom-centered services they were also providing.

Services Adrien had made clear he had no intention of soliciting from her.

(Which was fine of course, considering Marinette been hesitant about the concept of “sugar” from the beginning! She _definitely_ wasn’t even the least bit upset over the fact she’d found the sweetest, sexiest, most panty-droppingest sugar daddy in Paris, only to have him tell her he didn’t want to do anything beyond kiss her! That was fine and perfect and certainly didn’t make her lie awake at night like some self-conscious middle schooler dying to be noticed by the new boy at school.)

"Can I help?" Tikki asked, floating above her sprawled out human with a look of minor concern. 

"No, probably not," Marinette sighed, combing fingers along her scalp.

Tikki obviously knew all about her little "arrangement". It was nigh impossible to keep secrets from a being she spent 95% of her time with. Marinette had long since gotten used to having a live-in goddess, to the point where Tikki had become more an extension of herself than anything. Still, she wasn't exactly sure what kind of sugar dating knowledge Tikki could possibly impart upon her, so she figured seeking advice was more-or-less moot in this situation.

"Alright," the kwami said, fluttering down to peck a soft kiss against Marinette's cheek. "You know the deal then. Good luck, do your best..."

"And don't get pregnant," Marinette finished through a grin. Tikki giggled, nodding her assent, before flying off to the corner of the room they'd designated as her own personal space. Meanwhile, Marinette rolled onto her side, snatching her cellphone from where she’d tossed it across the coverlet and tapping it thoughtfully against her chin.

Adrien was kind, warm. He was genuine and generous and so so deserving of someone who did more than just sit there and flutter her lashes. He deserved to feel appreciated after all the pampering he'd treated her to, and Marinette wasn't about to let one more minute go by before she did something to demonstrate how very thankful she was for him.

She toyed with her cell phone, thoughtful. _'Well, it has been a while since I've tried my hand at a stir fry..."_

Adrien picked up on the last ring, answering with a breathless, "Hello?"

"Hi how was your day have you eaten yet also are you free tonight and also do you have a rice cooker?"

There was a pause, filled only by the tell-tale sound of Adrien trying to catch his breath. Marinette figured she must have caught him mid-evening workout.

(Because somehow her "instant-ramen-six-times-a-week" self had managed to snag a rich supermodel who did shit like juice cleanses and daily sprints. What even was her life any more?)

"Um... huh, let's see," he began, still slightly winded. "Fine, not since lunch, yes, and... does a pot with a lid count?"

"It most certainly does not!" Marinette gasped, shaken to her very Asian core. She rolled off the bed and onto her feet in one swift movement, making her way towards the kitchen in a determined march. "Send me your address, I'm kidnapping you from your Godless existence."

"Alright," Adrien chuckled, in that way that made it impossible for her to stay offended. "Just give me long enough to shower and change. Where are we going, by the way? Should I wear anything specific?"

"Grocery shopping," Marinette answered, her words nearly drowned out by the clanging of appliances as she dug through the cabinet under the sink. 

"Grocery shopping," Adrien echoed, puzzled. 

After a further moment of searching Marinette found her treasure, extracting the modest rice cooker with the utmost reverence it deserved. Sure it was old and more than a little banged up, but it'd been lovingly passed down from her own mother's kitchen, making it valuable beyond measure. One might even call it pre-seasoned.

She hefted up back to her feet, panting a bit from her excavation. "I mean, I can always pick up the ingredients on the way if you'd like. That gives you a bit more time to shower before I start making you dinner."

Another beat of silence.

"You were serious about cooking for me?" Adrien asked, sounding far too dazed for her fragile soul to take. Marinette leaned one hip against the counter, pressing a hand to her chest to soothe the ache there.

(One of these days she was going to find whoever had deprived this man of even the most basic of intimacies and introduce them to Ladybug's yo-yo via their own ass.)

"That depends, are you serious about eating for me? I _will_ take it as a personal insult if you don't go for seconds," she warned.

Adrien's laugh was equal parts joyous and disbelieving. "For you? I'd take thirds and fourths! And of course I'll go grocery shopping with you- and help you cook too! I'm not just going to sit back and make you do all the work."

Infected by his giddiness, Marinette found herself giggling. "Does this mean you've been downgraded from Daddy status to Sous Chef status?"

Adrien tutted. "I think you mean upgraded. Also, who says I can't be both?"

"Fair point," she conceded, ignoring her roommate's stares as she stood there grinning like an idiot in the middle of their kitchen, cradling a rice cooker like it was her first born. "So, meet you at the produce market in a half hour, Chef Daddy?" 

There was a soft wheezing choke from the other end of the line. Marinette's grin only widened.

(It was so cute, the way he seemed to stop functioning whenever she called him that.)

After a moment, Adrien cleared his throat, voice gravely when he spoke. "See you then, Chef Baby."

~~Marinette did _not_ drop her rice cooker at the thought of him growling that in her ear. No way.~~

 

* * *

 

 

“Baby,” Adrien moaned, nearly overcome by sensation. By her warmth and her wetness, by the sting of his thighs as he rocked his hips against her own, by the need he felt radiating off both of their flushed bodies. Marinette was laid back beautifully against his bed, her knees hooked up over his shoulders from where he’d placed them there moments earlier. She’d asked- no, _begged_ him to go deeper, and he couldn’t deny her a single thing. Not when she was wrapped completely around him like this, her nails digging trenches across his sweat-slick back and her lips wrecking absolute havoc along his collarbone.

“Daddy~” she purred, actually _purred_ for him! “Please, _please_ Daddy… I’m so close...”

Adrien would like to say the next sound that came out of his mouth then was a manly growl, but even he recognized it as nothing more than a whine. He was completely and totally bewitched by the woman beneath him, lost to the point where he was unable to to anything but nod and whimper as he continued to thrust inside her. Nothing else mattered to him beyond making sure she got every little thing she wanted, and right now, _miraculously_ , what she wanted was him.

“M-Marinette…”

She only got louder as he increased his pace, filling his ears with soft pants and sweet commands he was endlessly eager to obey. She drowned out the squeak of his bed frame, the rattle of his headboard as it hit the wall. She overpowered the lewd slap of their sexes against one another, overpowered his own near-constant moans. The volume of her mounting pleasure even rivaled the strange ringing sound Adrien heard coming from… his…

“Goddamnit,” he hissed, his eyelids popping open as his fantasy disappeared in a puff of smoke. His left hand remained tight around the base of his cock as his right flailed around his nightstand for his phone, intent on shutting the damn thing off so he could hopefully pick up right where he and imaginary Marinette had left off.

That is, until the caller id changed his mind.

Adrien fumbled with the device for a second longer before finally managing to tap the right key. “Hello?” he answered, swallowing his sudden shame and sampling his best _“I definitely wasn’t just masturbating to the thought of you”_ voice.

"Hi how was your day have you eaten yet also are you free tonight and also do you have a rice cooker?" Marinette said by way of greeting.

Adrien blinked, trying to orient himself.

"Um... huh, let's see…”

Should he… should he stop touching himself? Or could he possibly stay discreet enough to-

Adrien let go of his dick with a soft sigh. Because no, he was not discreet, and only a creep would continue to touch himself after the person he was fantasizing about called him mid-jerk off. Now, what had she asked again…?

"Fine, not since lunch, yes, and... does a pot with a lid count?" he tried, hoping he was at least semi-coherent.

Apparently whatever he’d said was not the right answer, as Marinette was now threatening to kidnap him. Then she mentioned something about groceries he couldn’t quite hear over whatever it was she was wrestling with on her end. Perhaps an entire dishwasher? A small SUV? Adrien tried to keep up with the conversation as best he could, but it was extremely hard to concentrate with half his body’s blood still keeping him distractingly hard. He only understood scraps of what Marinette was saying, until the tail end of a sentence found his ears and brain intact.

“...shower before I start making you dinner.”

Wait.

_What?_

"You were serious about cooking for me?" he nearly sputtered, having almost forgotten her offer from their first date.

"That depends,” Marinette hummed, “Are you serious about eating for me? I _will_ take it as a personal insult if you don't go for seconds.”

Adrien couldn’t contain his laugh, breathless as it was. "For you? I'd take thirds and fourths!” he promised, rushing to tack on: “And of course I'll go grocery shopping with you- and help you cook too! I'm not just going to sit back and make you do all the work."

"Does this mean you've been downgraded from Daddy status to Sous Chef status?" Marinette asked, her laugh a playful, devious little thing.

Adrien shook his head with a tut. "I think you mean upgraded. Also, who says I can't be both?"

"Fair point," she said, and Adrien _swore_ he could hear her smile. It only made him grin all the more, staring up at his ceiling with perhaps the dopiest expression known to man.

He felt his earlier ardor cool, frantic lust mellowing out into sweet affection as dirty fantasies transitioned into romantic scenes of simple domesticity. He pictured pushing a cart through a winding supermarket, discussing meal plans and holding her hand as they wandered the aisles. He pictured pouring her a glass of wine, handing it over as she stood working magic at the stove, accepting a cheek kiss before he started setting the table for two, soft music floating through his candlelit apartment. He pictured them feeding each other little bites off each other’s plates, pictured her curling up on his couch as he took care of the dishes, pictured joining her under the throw blanket as they cuddled before the crackling fireplace, moonlight streaming through the open window and autumn breeze-

"So, meet you at the produce market in a half hour, Chef Daddy?"

...Actually, scratch that whole thing about the cooled ardor. Adrien was fairly certain he’d never be flaccid again.

He cleared his throat, hoping Marinette didn’t have some sort of sixth sense that told her when his fingers were creeping towards his cock. Because it would be pretty difficult to explain why the phrase “Chef Daddy” made him unbearably horny. As far as he knew, getting turned on by the thought of cooking and dishes was not normal.

“See you then, Chef Baby,” was all he managed to reply, taking himself in hand and ending the call before Marinette heard anything especially incriminating on his end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good luck roasting me in the comments fuckers ive literally transcended kinkshaming


End file.
